Second First Time
by Snowfilly
Summary: The sequel to Heaven From Here. Memories can cast shadows even over the most perfect present. Mickey and Jack attempt to resume their relationship.


Second First Time

All characters are the property of Thames TV; the various writers and creators of The Bill, and I have made no money from their use. Song lyrics belong to Rod Stewart.

A /N – A direct sequel to Heaven From Here. Mickey and Jack mark off the milestones in their resumed relationship. Wonderfully beta-d by Webbswoman.

Rated for references to rape and abuse, as well as slash scenes and strong language.

_And sometimes when we touch,_

_The agony's too much,_

_And I have to close my eyes_

_And hide._

_~~~Rod Stewart, 'For the First Time'_

Jack laughed at him, the affection so evident in his expression that Mickey had no option but to laugh along with him, even though he didn't know what the joke was.

Jack's laughter was safe. It was never aimed at him.

'What?'

'The last thing I saw making that much mess with its dinner was a puppy. Here, look.' He shot out a hand, and wiped away the lemon sauce from Mickey's face. 'Last time you get chopsticks. Next time, you're eating with your fingers. Or you can go without. Seeing as it'll be my turn to wash up.'

The contact, innocent as it was, made Mickey freeze. How long now? _Three months since I kissed him, last time, isn't it?... Look, if you'd married Liz, you would have had to sleep with her by now – you'd be over all this. And Jack's never going to force you._ He grinned, agreed, and tried to raise his hand to Jack's.

The touch was ghost cold, cold as tables and handcuffs in a warehouse. Cold as memory.

He left Jack to eat the rest of the meal.

The flat felt like home again. Ever since the takeaway last week, the first time he'd dared to touch Mickey, the atmosphere had changed. _Back to normal, isn't it? Almost, anyway. Back to how it was before Delaney, before everything went wrong, when we thought it'd be like this forever._

Mickey had been so wary at first – although his sleeping on the sofa hadn't lasted long. Meadows had still spent most of the past three months hunched on one side of the bed, trying not to brush against Mickey while he slept. And Mickey hardly dared to talk to Jack, had never ventured an observation or comment if there was any chance the DCI might disagree with him.

_He was trying not to make me angry, wasn't he? How could I ever be angry with him?_

Mickey was sprawled next to him on the sofa, half asleep, occasionally making an effort to move his head from Meadows' shoulder and then giving in. The contact wasn't new – he'd lost count of the times Mickey had fallen asleep next to him like this – but it was unfamiliar. Precious as only something once lost and now restored can be.

Restored now, but so much of their past was gone. His fingers were a feather touch against Mickey's t-shirt, catching at the fabric, at their past.

_It's OK, Mickey. You can stay asleep. It's alright...Just I missed you, missed this, so much._

Mickey's eyes flew open. He didn't move, but every muscle was suddenly tense, quivering with the potential for sudden action.

_Running away, I guess. All he's got left. _'Mickey, you okay?'

The laughter was like something out of a horror movie. 'Course I am. I'm fine.' His eyes were wide, showing rings of white around the sapphire, and sweat made the cotton damp in Jack's hands.

He let go, loath though he was to break the contact, and was rewarded with Mickey's hesitant smile.

'Of course I'm alright, Jack. Of course I am.'

_You might be, but I'm not...God help me, Mickey, I don't know how much longer I can do this. I just can't._

'I'm sorry. Mucked it up, didn't I?'

'It's fine, Mick. Don't worry.'

_Does it count as lying if they know you are? Lying to each other about everything, that's all we've come to, isn't it? Of course it isn't alright._

Finally, he was able to kiss Jack again. A drunken, laughter-filled gathering in the Dog and Gun – it was Smithy's birthday. Eight or nine of them, standing in a rough circle, drinks in hand. Playing truth or dare, Smithy changing the rules as he went along.

Jack was nearby, watching vaguely. His attention kept flickering from them to the Test Match Special.

He felt relaxed here; safe. Jack was close by, and almost everyone else in the room he could class as a friend. _Guess Jack was right, wasn't he? He always said I was a cheap date. Only needs to be somewhere like this, and the lager, and him, and everything's fine. Better than fine._

The silence in the private room was as deafening as Smithy's singing had been. Unabashed by the lack of applause, Smithy got up from his knees and saluted Jo Masters, who refused to look impressed by his efforts.

'There ya go. Dare completed.' He tossed back the rest of his vodka and coke; then shouted for another one. 'Mickey, your go now.'

'Hey, not fair! Kezia's not had a go yet.' _Nor have I. But he's up to something, isn't he? He had a reason for telling Jack to come. _

'Tough. She's prettier than you are. Truth or dare?'

He really didn't like the way Smithy was grinning. And although he trusted Smithy implicitly, he dreaded giving any sort of personal information about himself to this group. He couldn't imagine what questions the sergeant could ask without the answers hurting. 'Dare.'

At once, he knew he'd done the wrong thing. Or at least, done what Smithy wanted him to do. The glint in his dark eyes was nothing short of gleeful.

'I dare ya...dare ya to snog someone in the room.'

He was acutely aware of all the women looking at him hopefully. Smithy grinning, as if he knew exactly what Mickey was planning to do. And Jack, his attention still focussed solely on the cricket.

With great deliberation, he walked over and stood in front of Jack. Looking up at him. Worshipping, almost.

'He's not, is he?' That was Kezia.

Maybe Jack had been paying more attention to the game than he'd thought, because he lowered his head slightly and smiled – an expression that was for them alone.

Mickey reached up to kiss him, mouth shut, eyes open. Only a few second's contact, but years of feelings.

'That don't count!' Sam muttered.

'It does! I said someone in the room, not the game! The DCI's in the room.' Smithy's voice cracked across the dissent.

Mickey strolled back to his place in the circle, deaf to all the comments.

'Mickey, what were you doing?'

He glanced over at Smithy and knew that the sergeant had been planning this all along. He nodded his thanks and watched the rest of the game, pretending that he was unaware of Jack's smug grin.

_I kissed him. I kissed him._

_***_

_Bloody, flaming overtime. _Mickey rubbed his eyes with one hand, kept the other clenched around the steering wheel; hoped vaguely that nothing else was on the road. _Should have got Smithy to give me a lift, really. _The wheels hissed along the damp tarmac, the rhythm almost matching the pounding ache in his head.

The flat was in darkness when he arrived; nearly 2AM and both of them were due on at 8 tomorrow morning. _No more overtime after this, not ever. And even that's pretty deep thinking for this time of night, Mick._ He crept through the flat as best as could, although he knew Meadows would wake up.

He always did – the same as he himself did if Jack went flying out on an urgent case, or even if, waking early and remembering they were out of coffee and bread, Jack slipped out to go shopping. Maybe that kind of awareness came naturally from being in a proper relationship. Maybe it was the very essence of it.

_Ain't though, is it? Not really; you've only kissed him that night at the river and the other day, and that was only cos Smithy insisted. Nowhere near sleeping with him, and that's what he was on about the other night, else we might just as well say we're flatmates, sharing the cooking and the bills, not lovers. That's what he wants._

_Fucking hell, it's what I want... Need._

_I need him to stay._

He woke Jack without intending to, trying to change in the dark, and falling over a drift of CD cases that had accumulated by his side of the bed. He'd spent hours recently transferring them across to the I-pod Jack had brought him, and the cases had just stayed there. Jack – who always slept on the other side of the bed – had said nothing.

'Hey.' Jack's eyes gleamed a faint blue in the dark. 'You okay?'

'Sure.' He rubbed his ankle with his other leg, trying not to let Meadows see that he was hurt. He'd fuss even worse than usual if he knew than Mickey was hurt, and his fussing tended to lean towards holding – he couldn't face that tonight.

'Any bloodstains?'

'Nope.'

'Come to bed, then.' He sat up, reached over, and turned the main light on. 'Without breaking your neck.'

Mickey stared at him, forgetting the pain and the exhaustion for an instant. Jack was – at least – topless. For all that they lived together, it had been years since he'd seen his partner like that.

They tried to avoid each other, both of them always remembering that the last naked man Mickey had looked at had been Delaney.

He gazed at Jack. He'd put some weight on; the brown hairs dusted over his chest had begun to fade to grey. Once, he'd known that body as well as his own – and had loved it far more. Even after Delaney, the memories had occasionally featured in his dreams.

Now...Now what? He wanted to feel something, some sort of arousal or desire. Something that would give him the courage to kiss Jack and then go forward with the rest of it. _I just want the rest of my life back... that and everything else that bastard nicked from me. All this._

_And I should tell him I still think he's beautiful. I mean, he isn't, really, but God, I think he is._

'Hey.'

He hadn't realised that Jack had been scrutinising him at the same time. _What do I look like to him now? Mickey or Michael? His lover or Delaney's bit of stuff? _It had been so long since anyone had noticed his looks – Liz's appreciation had been more for his sense of humour.

'Come to bed. Go to sleep.' Jack smiled up at him. 'Let me go to sleep.'

He glanced down at himself, the long blue t-shirt he'd taken to sleeping in since it had got too hot for the pullover he'd been using. For years, ever since leaving home at 16, he'd slept naked. It had been a reminder that he was free from his Mum's flat, where it had always been cold and he'd always been ready to leave in the night.

Clothes were armour now.

Armour against the wistful, yearning look in Jack's eyes. _God, why can't I feel anything for that look? Why shouldn't he be looking at me?_

He took the t-shirt off. Was aware of Jack pretending not to look, as he turned the main lights and got into bed alongside him. _Lost the armour, might as well take it a bit further. _It felt like an obligation to move closer to Meadows.

_He shouldn't have to make an effort. I don't want it to be like this for him. _'It's okay, Mickey. I love you.' Tentatively, he laid his hand on Mickey's shoulder. He was trembling, and Meadows didn't think it was from excitement.

'Jack?' _Why make it a question? What can he say?_

'It's okay.'

_He always says that, and it always is. _Mickey moved over a bit more and let Jack hold him. Made a conscious effort to shut his eyes and relax his muscles. To forget, that in the past, they'd laid like this in all the blissful moments after, and Jack would sometimes reach across and kiss him. _I wish he would...No, this is enough for now. Don't let him spoil it._

The older man was asleep long before Mickey had even relaxed, and the insistent pain in his right ankle was only part of the reason he was still awake. _It was different, wasn't it? I should want to kiss him and I don't, but that's not just him, it's everyone. Anyway, I managed the other day, when I'd been drinking and I knew it couldn't go beyond that cos everyone was watching...but I didn't really want to do it. I don't feel anything like that anymore._

He lay there, listening to Jack's steady breathing, the occasional car or plane, the sounds that kept him linked to the world, for almost an hour before realising something. _I didn't feel anything. That means I didn't feel scared. Even though I'm naked, and he's holding me, I'm not scared._

He slept, wrapped in Meadows' arms.

***

'C'mon.'

Jack grinned and followed him to bed. He stood there as Mickey kicked his shoes off and buried himself under the quilt to get changed. To strip off.

'Can we have the light off?'

Jack paused; then went over to hit the light switch. 'Why?'

_Because last night we were both too knackered to care, but tonight I've got nothing on and you won't be able to look at me so much with the lights off. Because all the lights were on in the warehouse._

'You always like a light on,' Jack murmured as he undressed and got into bed.

'Yeah, well. Something different.' He managed a grin. Rested an arm over Jack's shoulders and stared at him. In the light, the older man was so beautiful. So loved.

He never meant to cause a row. Not with Mickey, not now, when everything was going so well. During the past fortnight, he'd become used to waking up with Mickey in his arms. Used to admiring his body again, trying to ignore the old razor scar that Mickey had somehow kept a secret until now. Used to the perpetual frustration of being able to look – and even touch – but going no further.

_She's gorgeous, _was his first though on seeing the new DS. Half-Italian, ebony hair and dark blue eyes, skin the colour of parchment – as exotic and elegant as any woman he'd ever seen. The antithesis of Mickey's scruffy charm.

He hadn't meant to flirt with her; never consciously did so. But he was a man, still – just – in the prime of his life, and she was beautiful. It had been so long since he'd last flirted with Mickey, since he'd known the small thrills and setbacks of the oldest game, and although he was outlining the current cases, his eyes were saying something else.

Her long fingers rested lightly on his arm, the pressure that of snowflakes landing – if snowflakes could be warm and cause his blood to run scorching through his veins.

Mickey had always had a sense of timing. Meadows heard his feet thundering on the lower stairs, then the odd silences as he leapt a few at a time. No-one else at Sun Hill ever ran like that. _What does he want now? Something good, I hope. Please let it be something good for him. _He was still clinging to that thought, still eyeing Lucy up without really knowing he was doing so, when Mickey arrived.

He came through the doors at a sprint, mobile clutched in one hand, a wedge of papers in the other. His smile was a hunter's grin.

'What the fuck ya doing, Jack?'

The noise of the case files hitting the floor as Mickey dropped them was the only sound in the suddenly silent office.

_Oh, God, Mick. This isn't what it looks like, not really. It isn't. _'This is our new DS. Lucy Seratinia. Lucy, this is DS Mickey Webb.'

Both of them could see her wanting to ask questions; questions that they didn't have answers to . _What could I tell her? That he gets away with swearing at his DCI just because we're kind of lovers? And that's he's right, because I haven't got a clue what I was just doing?_

'Come on, Mickey.' He tried to make it sound like an order as he led Mickey from the office, aware that he hadn't been so out of control for years.

Manson was downstairs; it was easy enough to get him to look after the new DS. Meadows guessed that any man would find it an easy enough task. Any man except Mickey, who he saw get up and leave the general office when she come in later.

They managed to delay the argument until they got home, mainly because they'd shared the car this morning and Mickey made a point of eating a packet of crisps on the way home. He looked nauseated rather than hungry, but it prevented any sort of conversation. Lucy's perfume, light and floral, rode in the car with them like an uninvited passenger.

'What were you doing, Jack?'

'Showing her around. She started it.' He was horrifically aware of how juvenile that had sounded. 'It doesn't matter.'

'You were all over her.'

'Oh, Christ...Mickey, what is this? Year Seven? I can talk to people, you know.'

'Why, Jack?' The second word was almost a scream. 'Why?'

'It was you that saw everything, Mickey, so you ought to bloody know. She was the one doing all the running.'_ And you never stopped it, and wasn't it good when she had her hand on yours, and didn't you think about how good she'd look in bed? You wouldn't have stopped it, however far it went. And you never even thought about him._

The fear in Mickey's face was well hidden; Meadows doubted that any other person would have seen it, masked by anger that was almost rage.

'Yeah, I do know, Jack. Course I fucking well know why. That bloody slut...you coulda 'ad her tonight, if ya wanted. She'd o' done whatever ya wanted...

'Tha's why.' His voice cracked. 'Cos you've 'ad enough o' me. She's better for ya.'

_No, Mickey. No. _He couldn't speak; settled for shaking his head. He didn't know - hadn't thought – that the dread of being left might have been eating away at Mickey for weeks now. Hadn't considered it, although he still heard occasionally – in nightmares – Mickey asking 'Jack, do you hate me?'

'I can't do it, Jack. Can't sleep wiv ya. That's why.'

'No.' He tried to catch Mickey's eye; couldn't. 'That stuff, it don't matter.'

'It does. Course it bloody does. I – I – can't.'

He turned away from Meadows, huddled up on the sofa. The DCI moved away from him; went into their bedroom.

The last comment rung in his mind. 'I – I – can't.' _It matters, of course it matters, but not that much. It's not why I was flirting with her, not really. It doesn't matter as much as you, Mickey. _

Silence. Sullen, deliberate, silence ruled through the long night.

***

Smithy spent the next few days glaring at Meadows whenever they passed in the station; the DCI guessed he must have heard something about Lucy and blamed Meadows for it. _Don't suppose it was Mickey who told him – not like he's talking to anyone anymore._

Work was only just less fraught than home, where Mickey scuttled around like a nervous ghost. _I knew he didn't like fights – didn't know he was this bad._ It was impossible to talk to him, as Mickey would almost invariably make an excuse and leave whenever Meadows come in. Sometimes, for no reason that Meadows could tell, he'd stay in the room but huddle up in a chair and listen to his i-Pod.

The row ended as quickly as it had begun, three days later. The bed was frighteningly empty without Mickey curled next to him, bare legs pressed against his, breath warm on the back of his neck, but despite that strangeness, he wasn't sure what had woken him. The flat was dark, still, and almost silent.

Outside, a car swished past and he thought he heard someone shouting.

Inside, a few minutes later, the noise of someone trying hard not to be heard crying. Choking, almost stifled little sobs, as though Mickey wanted to howl and didn't dare.

'Mickey? Mickey, are you alright?' He struggled into jeans and a shirt, then went flying into the front room, sure-footed in the dark. He expected to find Mickey hunched up as he had been the other night, arms wrapped around himself because there was no-one else to comfort him, and that image galvanised him as no other threat could have done.

'Mickey?'

The whimpering sound which come as an answer horrified him.

'It's okay.' _You keep promising that and it never is, is it? And this time it's your fault._

Mickey glared at him. He was sat bolt upright, staring at the blank TV screen. A fringe of blood hung from his lower lip, trickling down his chin.

'Get outta it. Guv'nor.'

The word had all the impact of a blow. 'I'm sorry.' _I'm not, really, because I know I didn't mean anything by it, but if it takes an apology to make you happy, then I will. I'm sorry, Mickey. I'm so sorry._

_They can let Delaney out. Pardon him. I could face that, if only Jack doesn't go. I need him. Need him to stay. Oh God, Jack, I can't loose you. Can't._

It had been so long since he'd cried. Now, with Jack there, he gave in and wept. 'I'm sorry,' as though his voice was a distorted echo of Jack's.

'I'm sorry.'

'Why?' The anger at Mickey's jealousy was gone completely, replaced by love. He'd been thinking of Lucy over the past few days, forgotten perhaps just how deep his feelings for Mickey were. _So many years I've known him, and I never could let him suffer. Didn't I promise him once that I'd move away with him, if he wanted to? I can't see him like this._

'I'm a bottle job, Jack. Thought ya knew that. If – ' he turned to look at Jack, squinting through tears that turned his blue eyes into waterfalls – 'if ya wanted t' leave, wouldn't blame you. 'M sorry.'

Mickey felt good in his arms; his normal tension at being held was replaced by sheer exhaustion, so he sat passively and let Meadows hold him. Listened dully to the repeated promises – that he'd never leave, that he didn't mind, that he loved him.

_Apologies and broken promises – that's all I ever give him, isn't it? He should have learnt by now not to trust me._

'I'm not that brave,' Mickey mumbled.

'Shhh.' He laid one hand on Mickey's face. Felt Mickey lean into the contact, and felt as though he wanted to cry as well. 'You're brave.'

'I'm so s-s-sick o' being s-scared, Jack.'

It was more contact than he'd had with Mickey since – when? _The evening down the river, I guess. I just want him back. I want my Mickey back._

'It's alright.'

'I'm so tired of being scared of all that.'

'You won't always be.' He took his hand from Mickey's face, saw the younger man look up, and kissed him. Tried not to gag on the taste of tears and blood.

After a while, he felt Mickey smiling.

Mickey was singing. Jack paused outside the flat door just to listen.

''There is a house in New Orleans, they call the Risin' Sun and it's been the ruin of a hundred poor boys...God knows that I was one...''

_He's happy, isn't he? God, I've missed him being like this, all keyed up and buzzy. I know he's been alright, ever since we talked last week, but this...it's like he's better. Really better._

'Hey, Mickey!' It was their old greeting, resurrected from years ago. Full of love, not expecting or needing a reply.

The younger man bounced over and hugged him, footsteps loud in the quiet flat – he hadn't had a CD on; had just been singing to himself. 'Hey.' He kissed Jack on the cheek.

Daring, Meadows kissed him back, the same way. Mickey's arms locked around his waist, holding him close, and without knowing why, Jack laughed. Mickey's hair, much shorter than it had been, still managed to get in his mouth.

'Good day, I take it?' Jack queried. _Damn silly question, isn't it? Must have been. And he doesn't even know that we've got rid of Lucy yet. Maybe it's best not to tell him; spoil everything. _'You win?'

'Yeah. Only went and beat 'em 2-1.'

It was hard – nearly impossible – to concentrate with Mickey holding him like that, but he tried. 'When's the final, then?'

'Two months I guess. You're gonna come and watch, ain't you?'

'Course.'

'Good.'

There was such smug glee in Mickey's voice that Jack couldn't help but grin. And then Mickey kissed him. Not politely, like he had the other night, but hungrily. His eyes were gleaming, his fingers slipping under the collar of Jack's shirt, running over his collarbone.

'Hey, let me get in,' Jack protested, and he pushed Mickey away a little. 'Patience.'

_Yesterday, he would have got upset about that. Not now...what's changed? Oh, Mick, I do love you. This. Us._

They kissed again. Slowly, despite the desire, Jack became aware of the tension that Mickey was still trying to hide. _Scared still, isn't he? Adrenaline only does so much...and I don't really want him having to go out and play another ninety minutes. Please don't be scared, Mickey._

And after a while, he wasn't. Whether it was because they had all the lights on and the door locked, leaving no shadow of doubt about who his partner was, or because Delaney had never kissed him like this, or because desire had finally won out over fear in the battle of basic survival instinct, Meadows didn't know. What he was sure about was that nothing ever made him feel as good as Mickey kissing him back.

***

They'd stopped talking, kissing; had dinner – much as he loved Jack, it had been a 2PM kick-off, and he'd had nothing since breakfast. The DCI didn't mind waiting, or listening to a third run through of the game. _It was so good, wasn't it? And that pass, I made that second goal. Fantastic day and he's here... And if Jack comes to the final, that's going to be brilliant. He can meet everyone and they can meet him._

Later, years later, he'd remember that long, lazy evening holding Jack and talking football as they listened to music, and know when he'd made his decision. Know to the very second; when the i-Pod had switched to Music When the Lights Go Out and Jack's fingers had just brushed against his as if the DCI knew the start of the song.

'Do you want to?'

'I dunno.' He did; he just didn't want to have to name it. _Let it happen; let him make it happen, and then everything'll be okay, cos I won't have to think about it until it's too late._

'It's okay. Don't have to.'

'No, no. I want to. It's just...scary, ya know. Like when you wanna do something but it scares you...like parachuting or something, I guess.'

'That's for when you're young and stupid, Mickey, not this.'

'I was never meant to be a monk, was I? An' I'll 'ave to do this sometime.' _And if it's not with you, you'll go, and it'll have to be someone else, and that'll be worse. The day's been so good that it don't matter however bad this gets._

'Not unless you want to,' _and I wish I could believe all this would have been the same without Lucy._

Mickey didn't answer. He couldn't remember the last time that he'd initiated a kiss – years ago, maybe – but he remembered how; recalling it almost from instinct and trying, so hard, not to be scared.

Meadows stared at his partner for a while; let Mickey guide everything. Shut his eyes when he realised the smile on Mickey's face that he was waiting for would probably never be there again. _Maybe this is as good as it's ever going to be._

'Jack?' Mickey's voice was sharp.

_I didn't hurt you, did I? _He couldn't have moved away from Mickey any faster if he'd tried. 'What's wrong?'

'Do I have to do all this by myself? There's books for that kinda thing.' _Make him believe...make him believe everything's okay, and that he can enjoy this, and maybe it'll be better for me next time. And if not, it won't matter all that much._

'Sorry?'

He took Jack's hand; laid it gently on his chest, grazing over where Delaney had hurt. Shadows of pain, mostly from memory, followed. 'I won't go to pieces if ya touch me, Jack. It's what I want.' _I think._

_Good, _and he pulled Mickey tight against him, like he always had before. Almost unaware that the last person who had held his partner like this had been Delaney; knowing that it had happened so long ago that there could be no traces of Delaney left on Mickey, but expecting to find something strange, all the same.

**

He'd tried to be gentle; using every scrap of self-control he had. Carried on, giving in to the most basic demands of his body even when his heart had been saying that Mickey wasn't happy. Had at least taken Mickey to bed rather than using the floor, and had allowed the younger man to strip off rather than trying to undress him, but that had been it. He wasn't proud of himself.

_I should have known, when he never spoke or anything. I mean, he never used to shut up. But it was his idea...I thought he was ready. I was, that was all._

'Mickey, are you okay?'

The younger man was lying alongside him; hadn't tried to move away. The streetlights, only slightly diluted by the thin curtains, burnished the quilt he was huddling under with gold. Doubtless, it would have shone the same from his hair and skin. He'd wept, a little, earlier, when he'd failed to get an erection, and when Jack had failed to hear him saying stop.

Now, he looked almost peaceful.

'Ain't your fault.' His voice was muffled; distorted by the pillows.

'I'm sorry.'

'Don'' say that, Jack.'

'I love you, Mickey.' He meant it as an apology, but the words were true. He did love Mickey, and it hurt to see him like this. Hurt even more because it was partly his fault.

Mickey smiled back at him. It looked like an effort. 'I know.'

Later, when Mickey left the room to shower, he saw the blood on the sheets and wondered at how that seemed to sum up all of their relationship. _I don't look after him...I let him down, and he gets hurts. Always._

**

He'd never been to confession. For all his belief, his Catholic belief at that sometimes, he'd never confessed his sins. Part of it was the surrender required; he'd gone through life fighting and now he found it impossible to kneel and apologise.

And he'd been told, always, that his God was like a father. He knew fathers. Had no wish for another person who could hurt for no reason, so his faith had drifted away from the Church over the years. No confessions.

Now...he'd come so close to confessing to Jack last night, in between the laughter and frustration, the ultimate failure of their love-making. But it hadn't been the time. He'd made Jack happy; hadn't wanted to spoil it.

_I never kept anything secret from him, did I? Not Ray, or that damn car, or the football. He knows everything...should have told him, told them in court, but I couldn't._

It seemed doubly important today, when Lucy hadn't been in the office, and no-one but him had had any idea why she'd been transferred. _He could have told me, made a big deal out of it, but he didn't. Just let me find out, as though it's not important, but I know it is. He mucked his department up for me...He deserves to know, doesn't he?_

Mickey sat in their living room for a while longer, listening to the occasional outburst of swearing from the kitchen. Jack was a good cook, but he approached it like a battle. It was overwhelmingly comforting to have Jack there, whatever mood he was in, and in the end, he couldn't stay there any longer.

He walked over to him; Meadows laid down the knife and the meat he'd been dicing and turned to face him. Laid a hand on his shoulder, and despite himself, Mickey leant into the contact.

Leant harder, until Jack was actually holding him. He buried his face in Jack's neck; allowed himself to be wrapped in Jack's arms. _He could have been mad at me, couldn't he? Guess he should be. Last night couldn't have been fun for him either._

'You gonna talk to me now?' And his voice was so kind that it hurt more than anger would have done. What had he ever done to deserve that?

'Yeah.'

'What?'

'Something I never told you...I'm sorry.' He continued talking into Jack's shoulder, letting the words be muffled. Hoping that the tremble in his voice was well hidden.

**

He wasn't surprised when Mickey didn't come home that night. Upset, worried, but not surprised. He phoned him once; got no reply and left a message. 'Hey, Mickey? It's Jack. I love you.'

_Maybe if I tell him that enough times, he'll believe it. Maybe he'll be sure that I got Lucy moved on just for his sake, rather than because I didn't think she was up to the job. Oh, Mickey, you shouldn't be worried about that. Do you think it'll make a difference after all this time?_

Mickey's confession – such as it was – had simply been that he hadn't tried to fight Delaney off. That, after he'd seen that he had a knife, he hadn't resisted. Somehow, he'd convinced himself that Jack would see it as an indication that he must have fancied Delaney because he hadn't tried to stop it.

And everything he'd said, however long he'd held Mickey, hadn't made a difference.

The flat was so lonely.

He went out and brought some Chinese food back – Mickey's favourite – as if that could tempt him back; sat in the dusk listening to Mickey's CDs that he normally complained about in jest. Waited up until Mickey finally came back; it was only just past midnight.

'Where you been?'

Mickey smiled at him. 'Visiting someone.'

_Not someone else, I can't believe that he's found someone else, not after last night. Maybe the church._

'I got you some dinner. Chinese.'

'Snap.' Mickey's grin was something to treasure as he held up a carrier bag. 'You know me too well.'

_Never. I could never know you too well._

'You coming to bed, Jack?' Dumping the food, he walked over and put the music on. Smiled across at Jack.

_Who was it you spoke to, I wonder? What's happened? _But he didn't want to argue, or make Mickey talk if he didn't want to. Instead, he followed Mickey over into their room, noticing that the DS seemed far more relaxed than last night, as if the confession had had some real worth.

**

Mickey was crying again; laying in Jack's arms. Exhausted, Jack took a long while to realise. 'What's wrong? Didn't hurt you, did I?'

'No. No.' Grinning wildly through his tears, Mickey reached across and kissed him. 'I'd forgotten...it could be like...like that.'

'Oh, Mickey...Mickey, I love you.'

'I 'member...Remember it all. So good that was...Better memories.'

'You okay, Blue Eyes?' _You have to be...that's all I want, is for you to be alright. _He kissed Mickey's cheeks, kissing the tears away at first, then kissing him just because he could.

'Sure.'

He could see – and feel – the blush colouring Mickey's face and suppressed a laugh. Suppressed the urge to find out where he'd been tonight; who he'd seen. It could be Mickey's secret for now.

'C'mon, my turn.' Mickey's voice was hardly even a whisper.

It was different to how he remembered; Mickey more hesitant; everything more painful – or was that his age, now? But eventually, they were laying in each others' arms and smiling, and he thought Mickey might be healed.

'Jack.'

'Blue Eyes.'

'Love you.'

'Love you.'

'Always.'

Silence for a long while.

'Can we do that again?' and they were almost back to where they'd been once before.


End file.
